Little Muntjac and Little Leaf

https://youtu.be/cc-I3x71h-Y **In early spring, Dan-dan and Little Leaf were born together.** **In spring, they grew together.** **In summer, Dan-dan tried hard to keep up with Little Leaf,** **Forgetting that** **the leaf was following** **the rhythm of autumn.** ======================================================================== Author: Yang Tzu-wei ISBN: 978-957-435-136-7 Dimensions: 23cm × 22.3cm Specifications: 48 pages, hardcover Medium: Watercolor, pencil First Edition: Early November 2017 *Selected for the Taiwan Pavilion Thematic Book Area at the Seoul International Book Fair (2018), Guadalajara International Book Fair (2018), and Frankfurt Book Fair (2018). ======================================================================== **Foreword: [Little Muntjac and Little Leaf] by Yang Tzu-wei** I've always wanted to properly introduce this new picture book, but perhaps having been immersed in it for too long, I find myself unsure where to begin after its completion. I recall the words I wrote at the very beginning, before any sketches existed: "As the little muntjac Dan-dan was born, a leaf quietly emerged on the branch of a nearby zelkova tree..." Although these exact sentences didn't make it into the book, the story truly began this way. A muntjac and a leaf are born together, yet destined to grow at different speeds. The widening distance between them brings them to a moment where they must say goodbye... When I first started sharing this with others, I often described it as a story about "loss." As children look forward to growing up, they gradually realize that growing up is a journey of continuous loss. Along this journey, various forms of loss arrive: people, events, objects, family bonds, friendships, love, health— and even intangible things like passion, dignity, perseverance, hope, trust, childlike wonder, and innocence. Each experience of loss leaves a wound, shallow or deep. Facing these wounds is a difficult and courageous act in every stage of life. I began by trying to transform and depict these wounds through my brushstrokes. To capture the growth and transformation of Dan-dan and Little Leaf, I deliberately followed the sequence of the book, painting through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The colors on my palette shifted from tender green, fresh green, green, to yellowish-green, earthy yellow, red, deep red, and finally back to tender green. Magically, the process of painting felt like experiencing a year of seasons on paper. It was as if I witnessed the cycle of life flowing peacefully and completely within nature. Nature, through the changing seasons, tells us year after year that loss is unavoidable and natural. But after loss comes new harvest, and new forms grow. This is the very principle that allows life to be complete and to continue ceaselessly. I can't help but wonder if nature tries to comfort us in this way, encouraging us to accept loss more peacefully. Does it use this principle to remind us that regret is an inherent part of completeness? Looking back again, perhaps life inherently possesses the drive for growth. Therefore, those losses are life's own responses, creating space on the branches to sprout new buds. Consequently, I've also begun to say that this is a story about "growth." I'm starting to believe that regret is an intrinsic part of completeness. However, it's still incredibly difficult. The wounds left by many losses cannot be easily soothed or healed; they require long periods of time and ample space. Therefore, I simply hope that the work, [Little Muntjac and Little Leaf], with a warm intention, can serve as a small companion. And simultaneously, with a warm intention, it tells children that the path of growing up might be like this, but walking on this path is precisely embarking on the journey of growth. Little Muntjac and Little Leaf, that's roughly the story :) Origin/Manufacturing Method Taiwan